


Can't Be Tamed

by bunsterjonez



Category: 10 Things I Hate About You (1999), 10 Things I Hate About You (TV), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Taming of the Shrew - Shakespeare, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - 10 Things I Hate About You (1999) Fusion, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Marvel Cinematic Universe Fusion, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-09
Updated: 2019-04-16
Packaged: 2019-10-07 10:13:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17364083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bunsterjonez/pseuds/bunsterjonez
Summary: Summary: You and your younger sister Natasha were as different as night and day: she loved to be liked, you couldn’t care less, and her attention-seeking antics had made High School a living hell. Life at Stark Hill University, away from your sister was finally starting to feel normal… until Natasha follows you to Stark Hill during your second year, drama and all. And, for some reason, notorious hothead Bucky Barnes makes himself impossible to avoid, which in turn makes you feel more than a little… tempestuous.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> College AU - Inspired by The Taming of the Shrew / 10 Things I Hate About You)

“How’re classes going?” Your Dad’s face filled your phone screen as you walked across campus in a rather hurried pace. He’d been trying to call you all week, and while normally you wouldn’t ghost him, he did have a tendency to call at the least opportune time. Monday he’d called while you were cramming for a test with Pepper. Yesterday he’d called when you were in the bathroom… twice. And now, for example.

“Going great so far, I’m actually on my way over to music engineering right now.” You pushed through a couple of girls standing in the sidewalk, without so much as a backwards glance when one of them called after you with an annoyed “Hey!” Professor Ross had invited a relatively known music producer for a seminar and you were anxious to arrive early and pick their brain for some notes before anyone else.

“Great to hear honey, great,” he said, somewhat distracted. He kept glancing off to the side, where you could hear some shuffling and grunting off screen.

“Um, Dad… what’s that?” you asked, your curiosity now getting the better of you.

“Well, ah, nothing urgent, sweetie,” you noticed he shifted slightly, trying to angle the frame to hide whatever was distracting him.   
  
“Daaaad,” you wheedled, still not slowing your pace. “Who’s there with you?”  _Please don’t be a girlfriend_ , you silently pleaded, feeling fortunate that you were on the other side of the State. Your Mom had been out of the picture for a long time, but still, you balked at the possibility of your Dad getting… intimate. With anyone, to be honest.

“Um, it’s– ah–”

“Ugh, she’s going to find out eventually, Dad,” the voice coming from off the screen suddenly materialized, pushing your Father slightly out of frame and revealing, much to your annoyance, the face of your redheaded younger sister.

You rolled your eyes. “Hey Nat,” you said without much enthusiasm.

“Right back at you,” she shot a sarcastic smile at you, devoid of any humor. Natasha wasn’t exactly the sweet little sister you’d enjoyed having in your earlier years; the two of you only growing apart the more you grew up. You’d successfully avoided much in the way of interacting with her since starting at Stark Hill University; the basis of its appeal primarily being the relatively vast geographical distance it put between you two.

“So, what is it that I’m going to find out about?” you said uninterested, finally heading into Barton Hall West, and climbing the stairs towards Ross’ classroom. “Another less than average intelligence reprobate joining us for the holidays? Is he  _The One_?” Natasha never was one for smarts. While she herself was highly intelligent, she always seemed to lack focus in the way of future aspirations. If there wasn’t a social mixer with a trust fund city kid at the center, she wasn’t interested.

“I sincerely hope your bedside manner improves by the time I get there next week.”

You were in the middle of scribbling your name on the sign-up sheet, when her words fully began to register inside your brain. You must have heard that completely wrong. “I’m sorry, what did you say?”

“I’m transferring over,” she said, examining her nails nonchalantly, as though she was only commenting on somewhat dreary weather. “Everyone I know from High School is here at Lang State, and I’m soooo over them–”

“What did you do?” you asked suspiciously, and you could see a hint of embarrassment cross her fine features. You two may not exactly be close, but you knew her well enough to know she’d gotten mixed up in some mischief.

“It wasn’t my fault!” she exclaimed, the feigned innocence almost making you nauseous. “Loki Laufeyson was going to ask  _me_ to go to Aspen for the holidays, but Jane Foster just  _had_  to go sticking her nose where it didn’t belong… and maybe a surgeon will be able to help her with that now, I did her a favor if you ask me–”

“Just keep her out of trouble, will you sweetheart?” the phone screen snapped back to your Dad’s pleading face, which had gone beet red at the sight of yours, which you supposed was looking sort of puce by now.

“Dad,  _no_ –”

“We’ll see you next Thursday, ok?”

“Dad, the semester’s already started, you can’t–”

“Bye!”  _Click_.

You stood frozen outside the classroom staring at your phone as if it had just insulted you, students now side-stepping around you, trying to make their way inside. But you ignored them as the full realization of what was happening hit you like bag full of rocks.

Your sister was coming. Here, to Stark Hill. Your safe haven for the last two years would now be invaded by your worst nightmare.  _Welcome to hell, Y/N._

Shaking from suppressed rage, you yanked off your headphones and stuffed them in your bag, and when you happened to look up, your mood wasn’t improved when you locked eyes with a brilliant blue pair from across the hall. The leather-clad figure of Bucky Barnes was leaning back casually against the railing, a cigarette loosely held between his lips, and a slight look of amusement at your current state.

Narrowing your eyes at him, you snapped, “What are you looking at?”

A smirk growing on his face, he held up his hands in surrender, but his eyes never left yours. Aggravated beyond belief, you turned your back on him with a huff and stalked inside the classroom… completely missing the fact that Bucky’s intense gaze followed you until the door shut behind you.


	2. Chapter 2

You used to enjoy waking up in your single suite at Stark Hill, the prospect of morning classes with Pepper Potts and nights at the only music venue on the town with Sam Wilson, your two most treasured friends at campus. A week after Natasha’s arrival and they seemed to be the only two people getting you through the days. **  
**

It didn’t help that that the first thing Natasha witnessed as you both crossed the quad towards the freshman dorms, was Bucky Barnes and his friend Steve Rogers involved in a very public tussle with Brock Rumlow.

“Oooooh, fight!,” Natasha exclaimed delighted, about to rush towards into the thick of it, but you grabbed her by the hood of her jacket with a firm “No.” You were considerably far away to even hear what was being said, but Bucky’s expression was murderous, and as much as you tried, you weren’t immune to the rampant gossip that his hot-headed antics yielded throughout campus. Though of course, you were aware that they would do nothing but appeal to your sister’s sense of drama.

As you attempted to reign in Natasha, Bucky’s gaze met yours, striking blue, a sort of guilty expression crossing his features.  _Weird_.

But before you even had time to react, you saw his eyes widen as a flash of rage overtook the blue, and he turned around landing a right hook square on Brock’s jaw, laying him flat on the ground, while the crowd cheered and booed, depending on their affiliation.

“Oh my god?!” Natasha exclaimed gleefully.

You however rolled your eyes at the display. As a couple of campus police began dispersing the masses, you determinedly dragged your sister away from the scene, fielding questions the whole way to the dorms.

“Who were those guys? Do you know them? Tall Leather Jacket seemed to know you. Do you think that other guy will be all right?”

“No one, I wish I didn’t, stay away from Leather Jacket, and I honestly couldn’t care less.” You’d reached her dorm room, and proceeded to drop the boxes of her belongings you’d been carrying at the door. “Here we go. Home Sweet Home. Bye.”

Desperate to free yourself from your sister’s company and rush to the safety of your own quarters, you turned a bit too exuberantly, inadvertently crashing against a lean figure, their beverage splashing all over yourselves. It wasn’t until you heard their voice that you realized this wasn’t just the worst day of your life. It was quickly turning into your worst nightmare come to life.

“Goddamn it, Y/N,” Justin Hammer, a dark stain growing all over his front, and an exasperated expression on his face stood before you and Natasha. “This is a brand new shirt!”

His drink had stained your own clothes, and the prospect of walking in damp jeans all the way across campus wasn’t doing much to lift your already lowered spirits. 

“Call it divine intervention,” you snapped at him, as he started taking off his shirt right there on the hallway. “You should have kept the receipt.”

Your history with Justin was not a pleasant one, and the memories of everything he put you through last year were only increasing the unmetered anxiety at the events of the day so far. He always did manage to bring out the worst in you.

“Speaking of divine,” he said, now eyeing Natasha, who was doing her best impression of a simpering schoolgirl, and quite obviously starting at his bare chest. Justin was good looking, sure. It was his personality that left plenty to be desired.

He reached out a hand to your sister, but you blocked him, eyeing him sternly. “Hardly. Stay away from my sister.”

His eye twinkled suspiciously at that, and your frown only deepened.

“I can handle myself, sis,” Natasha said, chortling, her attempt to try and force Justin’s attention back to her, but you shut her down immediately.

“If that were true, you wouldn’t even be here.  _Sis_.”

She glared at you, arms folded across her chest, and you heard Justin chuckle to himself, murmuring something to the effect of “This’ll be fun.” But you’d had it. Between the tea dripping down your pants, Justin’s irritating presence, and your sister destabilizing your peace at Stark Hill, you forcefully dragged Natasha into the room, shoving Justin away, “Move along, Hammer.” And you slammed the door in his face.

“Who was  _that_?” Natasha said, half eyeing you, but also making a point to straighten out a few stray hairs on the hallway mirror.

“Nobody.”

“Y/N…”

“Just stay away from him, ok Nat? He’s an asshole, that’s all you need to know.”

“Everyone’s an asshole to you,” she pouted into the mirror as you rummaged through her boxes. She was bound to have some sweats or something you could borrow for the time being. “If you took the time to get to know people better, they might surprise you.”

“Keep the lecture, Natasha,” you said, successfully finding some yoga pants, and replacing your damp jeans. “You’re not exactly the expert when it comes to judging people’s character.”

“And I know you’d like to think you’re the expert on  _me_ ,” she finally rounded on you, a thunderous expression on her face. “But you don’t know me at all.”

“I know you well enough,” your tone was beyond aggravated as you reached the door.  
  
“I want those pants back!” she shouted at your back.

“Fine!”

_Slam_.

***

 

_“…I heard Brock owed him a hundred thousand dollars…”_

_“…Serves him right for getting involved with Barnes in the first place…”_

_“…It was two against one, what was he thinking?…”_

 

The rumors had only multiplied after the fight the day before, and Barton Hall West was buzzing with more outlandish stories about Bucky Barnes and what he got up to when he wasn’t on campus. Which, up until a few days ago, had been all the time. You’d maybe seen him a grand total of four or five times in your first year, and as far as first impressions went, he barely made a lasting effect on you. He would lounge at the back of class barely paying attention, or rough-housing outside the gym complex with Steve or Frank Castle; not exactly your close circle of friends. You’d dealt with your fair share of “tough guys” in high school trying to keep your sister out of trouble, enough to not be intimidated or even acknowledge their existence. You had your friends and a plan. And while Natasha had become a major thorn in your side, you weren’t about to let her, or Justin, or Bucky Barnes, or anyone derail you off track.

“Maybe they’re in a fight club,” Sam said, earning him a snort from you.

“Isn’t the first rule of fight club that it’s not exactly a public event?”

“Or maybe they’re part of a drug enterprise,” Pepper mused on your left. “Clearly they’re low level enforcers, but young enough for top level operatives to take advantage of their physical prowess and bring in a younger demographic.” There was a stunned silence as both you and Sam stared at her.

“I think you’ve been watching too many cartel documentaries, Pep.”

Pepper was intent on global corporate domination. She was extremely smart, driven, and while both you and Sam were looking to pursue purely creative careers, she focused more on the practical business aspect of things. “Who else is going to take care of you once you make it big?” she would say.

You’d all made a pact at the beginning of the semester: five years after graduation, you’d be writing music for the top acts in the country, Sam would be a top artist in high demand, and Pepper would be the CEO of the entertainment firm representing you both. The three of you had become inseparable as soon as you’d met, and so today, as usual, you were gathered at your preferred spot at Barton Hall East while you waited for you next classes to start.

“Well, you didn’t hear it from me,” Sam continued, his voice dropping dramatically, “but I heard Steve and Frank mumbling about Bucky in the dorm lounge. Apparently he just got a two-day suspension.”

“That’s not very serious, considering his offense,” Pepper said thoughtfully. Brock had wasted no time milking his injury to get out of class as often as he could, wearing a neck brace and claiming permanent nerve damage. Considering he hung out with Justin, you thought permanent brain damage was a more accurate diagnosis.

“The extra credit they’re making him take on might have something to do with that reduced sentence,” Sam replied matter-of-factly.

“Ugh, can we stop talking about Bucky Barnes?” you groaned. “I thought you were my friend, Sam.”

“I am!” he exclaimed. “Which is why I’m offering you a chance to forget about your troubles and come with me to the Dome tonight. AntWasp are playing, and I got an extra ticket.”

“You’re only inviting me because you know Pepper won’t go.”

“You know me too well,” Pepper said, gathering her things. “Speaking of going places…”

You glanced at the time on your phone and began picking up your worksheets as well. Ross’ music theory class was about to start in less than 15 minutes, the only other creative class Pepper had included in her curriculum, apart from Mixed Media Marketing, which she shared with Sam. She had said it was so she could understand more about your majors, but you both knew she cared enough to invest time in your interests. You were lucky to have a friend like her, no doubt about it.

“Meet you by the North entrance at 7, then?” you asked Sam, who already had a few half-finished sketches spread around the side of the table you had previously occupied, and was getting to work on a new one.

“7:30,” he replied, making you roll your eyes. “Sorry, I wanna look good. You think this just happens naturally?” He gestured to himself, and you let out a laugh as you walked away with Pepper, your mood significantly lifted.

You should have known it wouldn’t last long.

***

“When we talk about harmonies,” Professor Ross annotated wildly on the whiteboard as he spoke. “We have to keep in mind that the composition–”

You and Pepper sat side by side taking notes, but your concentration, as well as Ross’ sentence, was cut short when the door at the back of the classroom closed with a bang. Sauntering in as one would generally enter their own living room, Bucky Barnes, clad in his signature leather jacket, dark shades covering his eyes and flyaway dark hair loose around his face, sat by the window, apparently unperturbed that the whole class was now staring at him.

You turned to Pepper with bewildered eyes.  _What the hell was he doing here?_

“I trust you have a good excuse to come into my class late, Mr. Barnes.” Professor Ross said, a hint of exasperation in his voice.

“Oh, yeah,” Bucky replied, sunglasses still on. “It’s a good one, too.”

“Please, enlighten us.” 

You smirked. Ross was no pushover, and the prospect of him picking on Bucky for interrupting a class –  _your_  favorite class – gave you a quick burst of glee.  _We’ll see just how tough you are now_ , you thought wryly.

“Great story,” Bucky said, without missing a beat. “But I wouldn’t want to distract from your lesson, Mr. Ross, as you were.”

You balked at the audacity. “What a prick,” you heard Pepper mutter next to you, echoing your very thoughts.

“Charming, Mr. Barnes.” Mr. Ross said, walking back towards the whiteboard. “Though the stand-up comedy class is down the hall. May I suggest you go disrupt that class next time you’re feeling inspired?”

You stared at him, flabbergasted. He wasn’t going to kick him out? You cleared your throat, and raised your hand, trying to get Ross’ attention.

“Yes, Ms. Y/L/N?” he said without turning around.

“Not to counter your authority, Professor,” you began. “But  _some_  of us are here to learn without interference of unnecessary distractions.” you shot a withering look towards Bucky, but his smirk only got wider.

“Unfortunately,” Mr. Ross said, scrawling some more lesson notes before turning around, and fixing the entire class with a knowing look. “My capacity begins and ends as an educator. Whatever you decide to do as students, is entirely up to you. I trust you have the self-discipline necessary to grasp the basic concepts of music theory and composition?”

“But he doesn’t even take this course–”

“Um, actually I do,” Bucky cut you off, earning himself a second glare from you. “Extra credit.” he elaborated, waving the class textbook with one hand.

“Oh, I don’t get paid enough for this,” Ross muttered, rubbing his temples. 

“To be honest, I don’t think it’s fair to the rest of the class who actually arrived on time. Since the beginning of the semester, to be clear.”

“Jesus, Y/N, would you let the man teach?” You shot a last furious scowl at Bucky at his interruption, who, much to your dismay, just flashed that annoying grin of his in your direction, as a resigned Professor Ross just sighed and continued with his lecture.

You sank down on your seat in a huff, Pepper shooting a sympathetic glance in your direction. “Just ignore him,” she whispered, but all it did was make you frown.  _Easier said than done._


	3. Chapter 3

“I’m in hell.” You were fuming as you stomped off after class, Pepper attempting to catch up with your strides. The fact that Bucky Barnes had infiltrated your favorite class and made you look like a fool to top it all off was maddening. “Since when does he even care about music anyway?” **  
**

“Or classes, come to think of it,” Pepper added, her nose wrinkled. “It’s probably the first time I’ve actually seen his ass make contact with a desk.”

“This was supposed to be the start of everything, Pep,” you groaned. “The year of no interruptions, no obstacles, no troglodytes exhibiting primitive behavior to derail me this time. How did it all go wrong?”

You pushed through the glass door of the small cafe at Barton Hall East, the familiar smell of your favorite British pastries, fresh from the oven, wafting around you both.

“The year’s barely begun, Y/N,” Pepper said, putting her hands on your shoulders and pushing you towards the short line forming at the counter. “Take a deep breath, inhale that fabulous greasy oven smell, and think happy thoughts. We still have more than half a semester to go.”

You sighed, but good-naturedly obeyed and breathed deep. It did smell amazing. To you, anyway. “You’re right. You want to join me?”

“God no,” Pepper blanched. “My face is already breaking out from the air in here. Bye.”

She promptly disappeared, leaving you to turn your attention back to the counter, about to ask the server for your usual, only to see the pastry box in front of you empty.

“No…”

“Sorry, Y/N,” The woman said apologetically when she spotted your crestfallen face. “He took the last one.”

You looked in the direction she was pointing, and you couldn’t help but lose it when you saw who was at the cash register, holding the warm pastry in his hand, steam still billowing out its side.

“You!”

Bucky Barnes turned to face you, midway through paying for his meal, mouth full of food. “Huh?” he said, voice muffled, cheeks bulging. It would have been funny if you weren’t so furious.

“Why– that’s– but–” you stammered, not quite able to articulate your emotions properly, and gesticulating violently towards the half-eaten pie in his hand.   
  
“Yeah, these are fantastic,” Bucky grinned. “Lucky I got the last one, huh?” He promptly stuffed the rest of the pie in his mouth as you gaped astonished. and with that, he clapped you on the back, making you stumble forward a bit as he walked away.

_What the fuck just happened?_

Students seemed to be giving you a wide berth as you stood in the middle of the cafeteria, unable to move, until a pair of strong arms wrapped around you and began steering you away.

“Sorry folks,” Sam’s voice, sounding apologetic, as he pushed you through the crowds, you dragging your feet. Your brain couldn’t seem to give proper orders to your limbs. “Low blood sugar, you know how it is. Nothing to see here…”

“My pie…” you whimpered helplessly.

“I know,” Sam said soothingly, squeezing your shoulders and walking you towards your dorms. “Let’s go get plastered, ok?”

***

“I’m just going to transfer out of state. Maybe out of the country. Do you think Australia’s taking late applications?”

The Dome was abuzz with the excitement of AntWasp’s upcoming show, an unknown indie band having just finished their set a few minutes prior. Sam had successfully dragged you out of your dorm and forced you into some respectable clothes; you had been all but ready to just hole up indoors and await the impending doom of the inevitable morning, but he wasn’t having it.

“I think you’re overreacting here,” Sam said, winking at a patron next to him, but failing to get anything more than a puzzled smile and a glance at your hunched over frame before they hurried away. He frowned, fixing you with an exasperated look in his eyes. “Also, you kind of suck as my Wingman.”

“Wingperson,” you corrected him half-heartedly, as you swirled the few drops of liquor around in your glass. “I’m sorry. I told you, you should have just come alone.”

You downed the last of your drink and signaled for another with a morose sigh. Not only were you the epitome of a bad cliche, sad drinking at a bar, but you apparently had exhausted Sam’s sympathy. Then again, you had to admire his dedication at listening to you complain for the past hour.

“Look, you know I love you,” Sam said, now standing next to you, as you fixed him with slightly bleary eyes. “But are you really going to mope about the pie all night?”

“It’s not just about the pie, Sam.”

The sound of the band warming up on stage behind you made you sigh. Maybe you should have stayed in your dorm after all. The alcohol was doing nothing except souring your mood even further.

“I know, I know,” Sam waved a hand as though swatting away your problems. “It’s been a tough couple of days, but pie or not, you gotta get out of your own head. Why do you think I dragged you out here in the first place?”

“I thought it was because you didn’t have a date,” you smirked.

“Low blow,” he shoved your shoulder slightly with a laugh, “but I’m not the only one without one, aren’t I?”

“Ugh, dating is the last thing on my mind Sam,” you rolled your eyes. “We have a game plan, I’m sticking to it, and after everything, I’m not about to go jump into bed with the next guy I see. I learned my lesson the hard way.”

Justin had sold you dreams, fantasies… bullshit. He’d taken everything away from you. Sam was the only one who knew the gory details, you hadn’t even told Pepper the whole story. You’d always feared that she would judge you for it. You certainly judged yourself plenty after that. Turned out you weren’t that different from your sister after all. 

Getting over Justin and burning that bridge once and for all would have been next to impossible without Sam at your side. After all, he’d helped you kick your heartache in the balls… quite literally.

“Well, I may be biased, but we’re not all cookie-cutter assholes like Justin Hammer,” he said with a snort.

“No, you’re right. Others are class-invading, pie-stealing douchebags like Bucky Barnes,” you added darkly.

“Ugh, forget about Barnes,” Sam groaned. “Grab us new drinks, and meet me by the stage!” he called as he disappeared through the crowd, the buzz of the amps and the bass hum signaling the start of the show.

You sighed again, this time in resigned acceptance. Sam was right. About 70% of today wasn’t even your problem to begin with. Not tonight at least.

_Forget about Barnes._  Should be easy enough.

The bartender brought you two new beer bottles as the crowd began to cheer behind you, but you had barely vacated your spot at the bar when an unwelcome, yet familiar broad-shouldered figure plopped down on the seat next to you, wide grin flashing at your horrified expression.

Barnes.

“What are you doing here?” You blurted out.

“Oh, sorry, is this seat taken?” he looked around, as though searching for whoever wanted to claim it.

“You are the expert in taking things away from people,” you narrowed your eyes at him, the stinging memory of the pie that could have been still fresh in your mind.

He snorted, asking for a drink himself, but otherwise ignoring your remark.

You couldn’t believe it. Here you were, once again, trying to mind your own business, and this… this…

Surprisingly, your mind couldn’t finish the thought, far too distracted by the ease in which he casually leaned over on the bar, his sleeveless gray tank hugging his toned torso, and his dark hair falling loosely over his forehead as he drank. You briefly wondered where he’d left his jacket, you’d barely ever seen him without it–

“See something you like?”

Apparently you’d been staring too long. You tried to clear your throat, but it came out more like a hacking cough, Bucky giving you a strange look.  _Whoa, settle down._

Pursing your lips in a firm line and doing your best to act as stoic as you could after almost choking to death, you made a point to look straight into his eyes. Big mistake. They were a shining shade of blue; hints of cyan and indigo, which only seemed brighter when framed by his dark locks.

_Oh boy._

Blinking madly and shaking yourself back to reality, you scoffed. “Don’t flatter yourself. I’m just wondering why you seem to end up in the same places as me lately.”

“Small world,” he shrugged.

“Ha. Sure.”

He rolled his eyes, and gestured towards the stage as he took hold of his second drink. “I know the band, drummer’s a friend.”

You looked towards the stage eyes wide, where Hope Van Dyne was pounding away on the drums, and back at him. AntWasp was the hottest ticket worldwide, and had been touring for the better part of a year. Sam had been lucky to get tickets as early as he did. But Bucky Barnes just  _knew_  them? “Yeah right, you know the drummer for AntWasp. Sure.”

At that he arched an eyebrow, and his smirk transformed from humorous to sultry in less than an instant. “You want me to prove it? Hang around after the show, I’ll introduce you if you want.”

Your eyes flickered ever so slightly down to his full lips, before you could pinch yourself internally. Stop that.

“I’m still not convinced you’re not stalking me.” you replied, and the way he laughed – a warm, hearty, laugh –  should have infuriated you. But the fact that it didn’t made your glare increase in intensity. “Who knows what’ll happen to me if I stay around you after hours.”

“All sorts of things could happen,” he was leaning in closer now, the sweet smell of the whiskey he was drinking on his breath, he and his eyes were bright, locked onto yours with a rapturous intensity, keeping you rooted where you stood. This was probably the longest conversation you had this year with anyone that wasn’t Sam or Pepper, and the way he was looking at you was messing with your head. “How about I show you?”

You gulped, gnawing at the inside of your lip, trying to block out every physical thought crossing through your mind. It had to be the alcohol, the stress you were under. What other explanation could there be for you to even think about how his full, slightly parted lips would feel on yours, how tight his arms would feel under your hands–

_Forget about Barnes._  Sam’s words were a bright neon sign trying to signal you back to safety. This wasn’t you. Barnes was an idiot. Your class. Your pie. And now your nightly spot. If he wanted to take anything else from you, you were going to put up the fight of your life… and make him regret it.

Straightening your back and readjusting your grip on the bottles in your hands, you pulled on the best sneer you could muster. “Maybe you can show your  _friend_ ” you replied as sarcastically as you could, and you turned on your heel, walking away from him, and attempting to steady the way-too-fast beating of your damned heart.

***

“And then I said ‘Hun, those leggings aren’t designer, no matter how many labels you sew on the tag!’ ”

Shrill giggles and hoots followed the voice drifting into you room from the hall. You’d inadvertently left your door open as you went over your notes for Ancient Civ, and with an eye roll, you went out to tell the Loud Squad to beat it… until you saw your sister surrounded by three other girls, each looking like they belonged in a high-end fashion magazine, not at Stark Hill.

With a sigh, you met Natasha’s glinting eyes. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“Ugh, you know her?” One of the girls mock whispered to Natasha, whose face was beginning to look like she’d contracted some sort of rash. She quickly regained her composure, though, ushering the girls away with a quick “I’ll meet you at the tables in five!” and a flashing smile that rivaled a dishonest politician.

“Aren’t you supposed to be on the other side of campus?” you asked, begrudgingly.

She whirled around to face you once the last of her minions rounded the hall, a desperate glare on her face. “Please do not address me in public again.”

“Public humiliation will be the least of your worries, unless you tell me what you’re doing in  _my_ dorm hall.” You folded your arms and leaned against the doorway, awaiting an explanation.

“It’s not  _yours_ ,” Nat seethed. “And if you must know, I moved in with a friend.”

“Well, unmove back to the room that Dad paid for, right now.”

“Ugh, gross, that closet?” Natasha’s look of disdain made you roll your eyes again. “Besides, nobody worth knowing is in that building.” She looked past you then, waving coyly with a wink. 

You turned around sharply just in time to see Justin Hammer walking past the other end of the hall as he waved back, shit-eating grin in place, as usual. Your frown turned into a full blow scowl, as you turned back to Natasha.

“I thought I told you to stay away from him.”

“Well, you never listen to me, why should I listen to you?” she shot back.

“Natasha–”

“You know, if you keep frowning like that, you’re gonna get wrinkles,” she made a mock sad face at you, before sauntering away, leaving you shaking in rage and with no other choice but to slam your door as hard as you could.

You put your suddenly aching head in your hands. Was there some sort of deity or higher power that you effectively pissed off for your life to be as messed up as it was right now? 

You needed a break. Luckily, it was Saturday. No classes, no Barnes. And now that Natasha had infiltrated your dorm hall, maybe going off campus would turn this day around.

You grabbed your keys, a jacket, and some old demo tapes for on-the-road inspiration. But when you opened the door, a small brown paper bag that definitely hadn’t been there before, was now on the floor at your feet.

You looked around the hall, but it was empty. Your eyes narrowed as you crouched down and gave the bag a quick poke with your finger. Nothing happened.

“If this is shit, I’m going to kill someone,” you grumbled, grabbing a pen from the table by the door and slightly pried open a corner of the bag. 

The sweet aroma, which thankfully was not feces of any kind, made you open the bag fully this time, peeking inside to see the warm, and – from the looks of it – freshly baked pie, golden crust still shining.

Bewildered, you hesitated. Had Sam left it for you? It definitely hadn’t been Natasha. Or maybe… could it have been him?

You shook your head, completely negating the possibility. Why would he even bother? What would it even accomplish? You hated him. A pie wasn’t going to change that.

“I hate Bucky Barnes,” you said firmly at no one in particular, before rolling up the bag, and heading out the Hall. You weren’t going to waste a perfectly good pie, anyway.


	4. Chapter 4

The drive to Pym’s Music Centre took you about 7 miles away from campus, in a strip mall that marked a midpoint from Stark Hill to the next city over, and halfway there you already felt the weight you’d been carrying for the past couple of days lifting considerably. The mysterious certainly helped.

The bizarre events last night hadn’t stopped after your conversation with Bucky Barnes. Sam had pointed out how he kept looking in your direction, further reinforcing the belief that he was stalking you… Though, Sam had a different theory. A ridiculous one, in your opinion.

“He does not like me, Sam,” you’d admonished him as you walked back to the dorms after the show.

“Oh yeah? Then you should probably file a police report, because those baby blues have been following your ass since it left your seat at the bar.”

Your cheeks had reddened considerably at the remark, which just encouraged Sam to continue his digs until you reached your dorm. “There’s plenty more willing asses for him to ogle,” you’d grumbled, Sam laughing his way back to his room.

Barnes didn’t like you. He just felt like tormenting someone and you seemed to be his most recent target. You’d been wracking your brain, wondering what you had done to fall on his radar. Apart from that one time you’d glared at him back in your first year, you’d barely had any contact whatsoever. Then again, Justin and you were still an item at that point, it could be he wasn’t looking at you at all. Justin wasn’t exactly that well liked outside his own social circle, after all.

Was that what it was all about? Was your association with Justin enough to draw Barnes’ attention to you? Make you miserable by association? It just didn’t make any sense.

By the time you pulled in to the parking lot, you’d convinced yourself to stop dwelling on the what ifs or whys. Barnes was nothing but just another distraction– a handsome, thrilling, blue-eyed distraction…

You shook your head, as though expelling the unwelcome thought. Pepper always seemed to have that compartmentalizing thing down; whenever she got flustered, she’d breathe a couple of times and make a mental checklist of what she could fix and what she couldn’t. You always seemed to let your emotions get the best of you, whether you liked it or not. And based on past-experiences, that came with disastrous results, more often than not.

Stepping in through the sliding doors, greeting the friendly sales reps, and trying to leave your worries at the door, you made your way to a spot in a far corner of the shop. There it was, what you’d come for. A brand new keyboard model had been unpacked and was proudly displayed at the forefront of the others.

Your dorm had strict rules about noise and public nuisance; thus the basis of its appeal. It was quiet (mostly, though you assumed that might change with your sister’s presence), and the music students had an entire wing that included single private studios to practice without bothering the other students. But the hours were limited, and so were the instruments. And you’d been aching for a set of your own for weeks.

You let your fingers lightly trace the white and black keys, the synthesizer controls, the volume and treble sliders.

“You can test it out if you want,” a salesperson approached you with a smile.

“Do I,” you exclaimed, slightly breathless. You briefly wondered how much it would take to put a hold on it, as the massive number on the price tag caught your eye.

“Let me get some headphones for you,” the guy said, looking around the store. “Hey Barnes, you mind bringing over some headsets?”

Barnes? The familiar name didn’t fully click until you saw him approach with two headsets, and stop midway in his tracks.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” you said without thinking, missing the way the sales guy’s eyes widened in shock.

“Ahem, I got this one, Jeff,” Bucky said awkwardly, lacking his usual boisterous swagger, as he pushed poor Jeff away before turning back to you, but before he could say anything you raised your hands up defensively.

“I completely refuse to believe that you’re here by mere coincidence,” you snapped, as he pursed his lips, possibly thinking of a retort. But you wouldn’t give him the chance. “So I’m going to just come right out and say it: Stop following me, or I swear to god–”

“Hey, keep your voice down,” he hissed, stepping closer to you and looking around cautiously. “I work here, all right? You can’t be shouting out accusations like that for my boss to hear.”

You were trying, but failing to look properly indignant; his chest was almost pressed up to your body, a woodsy scent hit your nostrils, his hair was pulled back in a haphazard knot, and the loose strands falling around his face seemed to be hypnotizing you.

“Accusations?” you managed to stammer out, though you did lower your tone slightly. “In less than two days you managed to embarrass me in my favorite class, show up at the Dome, steal my pie–”

“I didn’t steal anything, I paid for that!”

“And now it just so happens that you’re in the only music store around for miles, the store I’ve been coming into since last year, and you’re working here?” You were beginning to shake, and at first you supposed it might have stemmed from fear. Fear that Bucky had actually marked you for something much more sinister than just annoying you. But now it was turning into full blow rage. You’d already let Justin get the best of you. And you weren’t about to make the same mistake again. Much less for the likes of Bucky Barnes.

“I needed a job, a friend hooked me up,” he rolled his eyes at you.

“Ah, yes, a friend. I forgot, you have SO many friends.”

“Yes,” he said, gritting his teeth. “I have friends. People like me. Which is more than I can say for a–a–”

“A what?” you countered, eyes blazing in fury. “A bitch?”

Bucky, clearly taken aback at your brazeness, had no answer. All he did was just stare at you with those infuriatingly bright blue eyes, and it was making you madder than ever, leaving you with little choice but to turn on your heel and stomp out of the store before you broke something.

Bitch. The word seemed to haunt you, much like Barnes was. Natasha never failed to use it whenever you fought. Justin had called you that once, and that already had been too many times. But Bucky? He didn’t even know you. How dare he–

“Hey!”

You growled to yourself, not slowing your stride as Bucky called out after you. You almost let out a sigh of relief at reaching your car door, but as soon as you yanked it open, Bucky slammed it closed, making you jump back.

“Excuse me!” you yelped, glaring at him.

“Look,” he said, seemingly regaining his composure and taking in a deep breath before looking you square in the eyes. “I didn’t mean to call you a—” You raised an eyebrow as he cut himself off. “A… whatever. I’m sorry ok? But you gotta admit,” he leaned against the door, his arms across his chest. “You could afford to be nicer once in awhile.”

God, why were his eyes so goddamned disarming?

“Thanks for the advice,” you said, your inevitable sarcasm seeping through. “I can’t wait to put it in practice. Did you learn that in prison?”

Bucky regarded you with a curious look, as you continued to stare him down, waiting for him to move away from the door. “You’re not afraid of me.” He stated simply.

You scoffed. “Don’t see the point in being scared of a neanderthal like you.”

He smirked at that. “Most people are.”

“Well, I’m not most people.”

“You got that right,” he said under his breath, finally pushing himself off the car and walking away from you.

You hurriedly opened your car door, desperate to put as much distance as possible between you and Bucky, but before you sat behind the wheel, you noticed he was still looking at you with that strange expression on his face.

You shot him a scowl. “Why don’t you take a picture, it’ll last longer!”

He snorted, still not taking his eyes off you. Exasperated, you closed your door in a huff, about to pull out of your space, when a skid of tires sounded behind you. Justin Hammer had parked his brand new Cadillac right behind you, boxing you in.

“Ugh, what is it, asshole day?” you groaned, as Justin sauntered his way past your window. “Do you mind?” you called after him pointedly.  
  
“Not at all,” he replied, stupid smirk on his face.

You glowered at his back as he disappeared into the auto shop next door. Well, let’s see him ignore this.

Setting your gear in reverse, you slammed your foot on the gas pedal until you heard a loud bang and a crunch. Your left tail light was wedged on the side of Justin’s car, and you floored the gas until you managed to push it far enough out of the way, successfully maneuvering your sturdy vehicle, which was more or less intact, out of the lot.

“WHAT THE FUCK??!”

You smirked at Justin’s moaning cry as he rushed past you to inspect the damage, but before you sped away from him, you couldn’t help but chance a glance at Bucky, who was shaking with laughter, one hand against the wall of the storefront trying to hold on for support, as though that was the funniest thing he’d ever seen in his life.

***

“He blocked me in, he should be thanking me for not calling the cops on him.”

“Y/N, how many times have I told you? Use your words!” Your Dad’s voice on the other end of the phone sounded desperate.

“I tried,” you said, similarly exasperated, as you held on to your phone with your shoulder while attempting to unlock your dorm. “But it’s hard when the subject in question barely understands basic English, due to their brain being smaller than an ass-fish.”

Your Dad sighed, knowing this was a losing battle. “Can you just… promise me not to destroy anyone else’s personal property until I hear back from my lawyer about this?”

“You know, this is all your fault,” you snarked at him, struggling to stick your keys in the doorknob. “If you had just sent Natasha abroad, I wouldn’t be undergoing copious amounts of stress and we would have avoided ourselves all this unpleasantness.”

As if on cue, you heard the screeching cries of your sister down the hall. “Y/N, did you mess up Justin’s new car?!”

You rolled your eyes, as onlookers milling around in the hallway turned in unison to look at you. “Great,” you muttered under your breath. You frantically tried to jam your keys in, but in your struggle, ended up dropping all your papers and books on the floor.

“UGH! Dad, I’ll call you later,” you moaned, hanging up. You were debating whether to just leave all your things on the floor before your fuming sister crossed the hall to your room, when large hands grabbed the key and doorknob, and giving it a quick jiggle, opened the door for you.

“Looks like you need a quick getaway.”

You got a brief glimpse of Bucky Barnes before you felt yourself being pushed inside your apartment, and kicking all your things inside with his foot, he quickly shut the door, right in your sister’s irate face.

The look of utter surprise on yours, however, quickly matched Natasha’s, as you realized that Bucky Barnes was now in your private quarters, where he clearly had not been invited.

“What. The hell. Do you think. You’re doing?!” you hissed at him.

“I thought I was saving you from the active hormonal volcano that is your – ahem – sister,” he said, crossing his arms and leaning casually against the door; loud knocks now heard from outside as Natasha kept clamoring for justice to Justin’s automobile.

“Great, thanks for that, now get out!”

“You want me to go out there?” he said, eyes wide at your evidently preposterous suggestion. “Nah.” He walked towards your couch, plopping down on it, and putting his feet up, as you sputtered incoherent protests that went largely ignored. “I’ll just wait it out. You don’t mind, do you?” He grabbed your remote and began flipping through your Netflix queue as you stood, frozen in place.

What the hell was happening? Hadn’t you just told him to stay away from you back at Pym’s?

“Are you trying to torture me?” you yanked the remote out of his hand, ignoring the “Hey!” he yelped out. “Did Justin put you up to this?”  
  
“Up to what?”

“Up to… to…” you scrambled for the words. “To antagonize me!”  
  
“God, you really are a walking thesaurus.”

You put your face in your hands, trying to calm yourself down, but all you could manage to do was let out a strangled scream of rage

“Ok, ok, you want me out of here so badly, I’ll go,” he said headed towards your window.  
  
“Well, now what do you think you’re doing?” you exclaimed.  
  
“Taking an alternate escape route,” he muttered, lifting the window pane across the room and looking outside. “I can tell where your sister gets her personality.”

You would have thought of a better comeback if you weren’t distracted by the fact that his backside, in all its tight jean sculpted glory, was all you could see of him now, but the only thing that you managed to say was “This is a third floor.”

“Your point?”

You shook your head, attempting to focus on your current predicament instead of his behind, and crossed your arms. “As much as I really don’t care about your general well being, I’d rather not be questioned by campus security when you don’t survive the inevitable fall from this height.”

He turned at that, fixing you with a slightly cocked smile that made you briefly wish he’d kept his back to you, as he shot you a wink. “Aww, don’t worry about me, doll,” he said.

You scoffed, trying to ignore the foreign tingling feeling rising up your entire body. “I don’t.”

But your indifference was betrayed when he hopped swiftly onto the landing outside your window, and you couldn’t help but gasp and rush a few steps forward towards the window in a brief flutter of panic.

There he crouched, framed by the window, mischievous grin on his face and staring straight at you. “Sure you do.”

And with that, he disappeared.


	5. Chapter 5

Bucky’s gleaming eyes through your window kept popping into your head that night, no matter how much you tried to shut them out. Airy melodies about the color blue were forming in your mind, driving you bonkers. Sleep was futile, rest even more so.

Aggravated, you shuffled into your kitchen for some water. The digital clock on your microwave switched to 1:15am. With a sigh, you leaned back against the counter, attempting to sort out the tangled mess inside your head. Your eyes lingered on the couch, where Bucky had sprawled out earlier flicking the remote, a vision in tight pants and tousled hair, and you felt your cheeks flush guiltily at the memory.

“Stop that,” you hissed to no one. Barnes was infuriating, an actual menace. Definitely not your type. You already knew how  _that_  story would end.

The loud buzzing on the coffee table interrupted your late night self-berating, and the unwelcome picture of Natasha’s caller ID on your cell made you huff as you answered.

“This better be an emergency, and I’m not talking fashion–”

“Wow, you’re even rude when you answer the phone.”

You blinked, trying the quickening of your heartbeat. This had to be a nightmare. “ _Barnes_?”

“And here I thought we were already on a first name basis.”

The smugness in his voice only served to increase the tension on your shoulders. “What the hell do you want?” you snapped. “And what are you doing with my sister’s phone?”

“Well, funny story–”

“You’re just full of those, aren’t you?”

“Jesus Christ, do you always have your panties in a twist, or is that just because of me?” You could practically hear him grinning. “I’m honored, don’t get me wrong–”

“Keep dreaming about my panties, that’s about as close as you’re ever gonna get,” you all but growled at him, though you were starkly aware of how warm your cheeks felt at the exchange. “What do you want?”

“All right, all right, well, your sister’s fine. Thanks to me, might I add.” You rolled your eyes as he continued. “She did, however, leave in a rental with a group of frat boys a few minutes ago.”

“WHAT?!” you gasped. “You lost her?!”

“I didn’t lose anything,“ he retorted. “She’s not  _my_  sister.”

Your palm found your forehead as you groaned again, your eyes shut, trying to think. “Where are you?”

“The Dome.”

“Don’t move, I’ll be there in five.”

***

The unsurmountable frustration you’d felt in bed couldn’t compare to the one you were feeling now, checking your GPS, while Bucky fiddled with your aux cord. Indeed, the darkening glower on your face had more to do with your destination than the company at the moment.

“Are you sure that’s where they went?”

“Well, the loud cheers of  _‘Hammer House!’_  as they sped down the street kind of gave it away,” Bucky replied distractedly, now cycling through Natasha’s music library.

“Right.”

Justin’s parents owned the lavish mansion at the edge of town, but rarely inhabited it. Everyone’s nights either started or ended there. Even yours, once upon a time. You knew it well.  _Too_ well. You could only hope you’d be able to find Natasha before she got equally acquainted with it.

“You alright?” Bucky’s voice cut through the dark swirl of memory clouding your thoughts. But you found yourself without enough energy to come up with your signature disdain. A quick peek sideways and you saw his brow was furrowed, fixing you with a strange look. Concern, maybe? Nah, it couldn’t be.

“Other than sleep deprived, I’m fantastic,” you muttered, turning back towards the road. You could still feel his calculating eyes, fixated on you. Clearing your throat, you added, “You didn’t have to come with me, you know.”

“And miss the drama, how could I resist?”

You rolled your eyes, but the sly smile he shot you disarmed you momentarily. A joke. And you couldn’t help but chuckle.

“She laughs,” he exclaimed, the satisfied nod that followed making you bite your lip, slightly abashed. “I would have hated to miss  _that_.”

“Shut up,” you said lamely, but the corners of your lips still twitched upwards.

A brief comfortable silence fell over you both, as you kept driving, the music Bucky had chosen playing lightly. But it wasn’t until you pulled up to the driveway, your eyes roaming up at the tall rafters of Hammer House, that you felt your shoulders tense up again. You hated this house; what happened here, what it made you do and the person it turned you into….

“I can go get her if you want.”

It took you a second to register Bucky’s words. “What…?” But you couldn’t detect a hint of his usual humor now.

“I’ll go get her, you stay here.” He was dead serious.

For a mad second you felt a wave of gratitude, and even considered his offer. Going into that house was definitely the last thing you wanted to do.

But glancing back at the house, you knew it had to be you. Just like Sam had said, it was time to move on. Dwelling on the past wasn’t going to help anyone, especially not Natasha. You’d go in, get your sister, get out. Easy.

“No, it’s ok,” you said, turning off the engine and avoiding Bucky‘s curious gaze. “Let’s go.”

Avoiding crushed beer cans and stepping over couples making out on the porch steps, Bucky followed your determined strides into the raucous dancing throng of people, milling about inside.“Should we split up?” you yelled at Bucky over the loud music and drunken cheering around you.

“No need!” He pointed behind you, and you whirled around at the slurred cry that followed.

“No way!” There was Natasha, stumbling down the stairs as her eyes spotted you and Bucky, an obviously intoxicated grin on her face that changed to nonchalant surprise as she lost her footing and almost collided with Bucky.

“Hey, Handsome,” she giggled at Bucky’s uncomfortable grimace.

“Ok, time to go.” You managed to grab hold of her wrist before she fell over. Her eyes were half-open, and the stink of vodka on her breath made both you and Bucky groan. “Help me get her to the car,” you muttered to him, but just then the booming voice of Justin himself rang out throughout the room.

“Do my eyes deceive me, or is that Y/N Y/L/N gracing us with her presence?”

You winced, and tightening your hold on Natasha, you began dragging her towards the front door, all the while ignoring her drunkenly belligerent protests. “I was just leaving, don’t let us interrupt your bacchanal,” you shot witheringly at Justin.

“What’s the rush?” He made a grab for Natasha, but, to your surprise, Bucky planted himself in front of him, staring him down.

“Back off, Hammer,” he glowered.

“Or what, Macho Man?” Justin snarled back.

“Don’t you have a mirror you have to go jerk off to?” You snapped at him.

Justin snorted, but it was Natasha’s pleading look that softened your expression.

“Y/N, let’s just have fun! Remember fun?” You turned your face away in disgust, as she kept slurring alcohol -infused breaths at you.

“You’ve had enough fun for one night–” you started, but with astonishing strength, she pushed you off so hard you stumbled back.

“Stop trying to be Mom, you’re NOT!” she yelled, a look of pure venom on her face. A slight hush fell over the partiers milling around, as she grabbed hold of Justin’s arm, who led her away with a last smirk in your direction.

You stood shock-still as the crowd resumed their chatter. Natasha’s words unyieldingly swirling around your mind, a taunt you despised. You knew she wasn’t sober, that she was just being the eternally annoyed younger sister. But here you were, trying to look out for her. Mom? You weren’t trying to be Mom. You weren’t trying to be anyone.  _Maybe you should._

“Y/N?”

Bucky’s voice sounded far away, trying to break through the black cloud settling over you, that nagging voice telling you to throw caution to the wind and forget about your sister, about Justin, about everything. Your breathing heavy, you turned tail towards the kitchen, as if on autopilot.

“Y/N!”

Bucky sounded further away now. Good. Who needs him? You hadn’t told him to come with you, and if Natasha was wasn’t leaving, you had to stay. When in Rome… It’s what everyone wanted anyway, right? For responsible, level-headed Y/N to loosen up. They had no idea. But they would, soon enough.

Clambering on top of the kitchen counters you began searching the topmost cabinets, and triumphantly you pulled out a bottle of expensive bourbon, twisted open the cap, and proceeded to chug down a third of it to a wave of cheers.

Strong hands around your hips made you yelp, bourbon splashing everywhere, as Bucky brought you down to firmer ground, amidst another wave of cheers.

“What are you doing?” he said, wearing a stern look on his face. All it did was reignite your misplaced fury.

“It’s a party, isn’t it?” you said defiantly.

“So, you’re just gonna get hammered?”

You snorted before taking another swig.

“Look, Hammer’s an ass, forget him.”

“What do you think this is for?” You said, shooting him a cynical sneer and waving the bottle in front of him. And with that, you swiftly turned away and headed out of the kitchen, unaware of the thunderous frown growing on his face.

***

The next thing you knew, a dull throbbing, seemingly coming from inside your head, was pulling you back, unwillingly from oblivion. You squeezed your eyes shut as hard as you could, a blinding brightness threatening to peek through.

“Mornin’, sunshine.” The voice was rough, feeling like ground glass shuffling inside your eardrums. It hurt. A lot.

“Shhh… not yet,” you rasped out, turning your face on what you surmised was a pillow, but felt like concrete.

“Come on, I made you coffee,” the gravelly voice insisted, and you wished you had the strength to move your arms so you could hurl something at its source. “And one of those pie things you like.”

“Go away.”

“How am I supposed to mercilessly make fun of your projectile ejection if you don’t wake up?”

“You’re a projectile ejection,” you muttered half-heartedly, still unable to move.

A laugh. And then a sweet scent filled your nostrils, a shadow blocking the horrible brightness that was making you ill. You opened your eyes just a sliver, to see Bucky’s face mere inches from yours. His features were blurred, your eyes still adjusting to reality. But it was as though his blue ones were bringing you slowly back to life.

“What happened?” you whispered, suddenly scared to know the answer.

“Well…” he began, considering where to start. “What’s the last thing you remember?”

You blinked a few times, trying to clear the cobwebs and fog from your mind. And suddenly, it clicked. Hammer House. Natasha. Justin. Bourbon.

You groaned loudly, and buried your face again on the pillow.

“Ding ding ding,” Bucky said. But before he could even finish, you were already launching yourself towards your kitchen sink, heaving last night’s liquid dinner all over it.

God, how could you have been so stupid? With every heaving purge you felt a shred of your dignity slipping away, each one bringing with it a sharp memory of everything your Mr. Hyde alter-ego had done last night. With a last heave you felt yourself sink down the counter, but warm hands were on your back at once, holding you steady. 

“All right, you’re ok,” Bucky draped one of your arms around his neck, and wrapped his own around your waist, walking you back towards the couch. “After three renditions of  _We’re Not Gonna Take It_ , I’d be puking my guts out, too.”

You groaned again. “Oh god,” but between your weak knees and full-fledged embarrassment, you ended up tripping over you own feet, and somehow landed on Bucky’s chest, still wrapped in his arms, while he crashed flat on his back on the couch.

“Ow.”

“I’m sorry–” but the disarming blue that had haunted your previous night, mere inches away, prevented you from forming a single coherent thought anymore. You became starkly aware of how his lips curved on his face, his brow crinkled as he inspected you, his hair flopped lazily over his forehead. How strong his arms felt, as though nothing could break their grip on you…

“You all right?” There was that sweet smell again.  _What was that?_

You nodded, transfixed.

“Great…” But neither of you moved for a few seconds. And that was long enough for you mind to do its usual mental gymnastics.

“Why are you being so nice to me?” you blurted out. You could dimly recall how badly you’d treated him during your drunken binge at Justin’s, and your cheeks were beginning to heat up.

“Because contrary to what you may believe,” Bucky replied, straining to get upright while pushing you back up on the couch, “I’m actually a nice person.”

God, his smile was infectious. “You don’t say.”

“Hmm-mm,” he murmured, now arranging the cushions around you. “So nice, in fact, that I brought you my music theory notes, since you missed today’s lecture.”

He leaned back to sit next to you, flipping the TV on, but your eyes went wide as they focused on the time displayed on the corner of the screen.

4:00PM.

You groaned once more, but now on the verge of tears. You’d missed everything. The whole day.  _Stupid, stupid, stupid._

Weakly, you rested your head on Bucky’s shoulder, unaware of the surprised look he wore at the gesture. His bare shoulder felt cool on your pounding temple, as the full realization of your actions hit you like a rock. “I’m the worst,” you muttered.

“No, you’re not.”

“I don’t even know what happened to my sister.”

“I saw her in the quad earlier, she’s fine.”

Bucky’s deep, comforting voice was lulling your heavy mind, your hangover still threatening to pull you back into unconsciousness. Maybe it was for the best. “Really?”

“Really,” he reassured you.

Well, that was something. Taking a deep breath, you further settled into Bucky’s arm, now wrapping itself around your shoulders. He felt warm. Comforting. Safe.

“You really are nice, Bucky,” you murmured, as you drifted off back to sleep, and you never saw the small smile growing on Bucky’s lips.


End file.
